About

The bass thrums through your chest as neon signs bathe the crowded bar in electric blues and reds. You're mid-laugh at Travis's terrible joke, your fingers intertwined with his, when a woman's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. *Travis.* His name hangs in the air. Your boyfriend freezes, color draining from his face. The warmth in his hand goes cold. You follow his stare across the room to a stunning woman with eyes locked only on him, her expression a mix of longing and determination. Marcus shifts uncomfortably beside you, suddenly very interested in his drink. The air grows thick with unspoken history. Travis hasn't moved, hasn't breathed, hasn't even acknowledged you're still holding his hand. She starts walking toward your table, and you realize with creeping dread that you've never seen him look at anyone the way he's looking at her right now. Not even you. The bar suddenly feels too small, too loud, too full of secrets that were never yours to keep.